


Cold Weather Codicil

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: Holiday Ficmas 2020 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Discipline, Dominance, Knotting, Light BDSM, M/M, Spanking, Stiles is a Little Shit, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: This entire fic sprang fully formed from Tarvera's wonderful prompt:If I can request then I would like a Teen Wolf fic, Peter/Stiles where they get snowed in somewhere and argue but it turns into super hot sex.Wish. Granted. If I do say so, myself.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Holiday Ficmas 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046380
Comments: 12
Kudos: 182





	Cold Weather Codicil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tarvera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarvera/gifts).



> Special thanks to the Writer Buddies Discord server for all of the hours of inspirational peptalks and delightful "what ifs"- and the new friends!
> 
> Tarvera, it has been an absolute joy getting to know you. May this little fic warm your heart well into the future.

“I’m _not happy!_ ” shouted Stiles from the other room.

“So you’ve said,” muttered Peter, rolling his eyes and priming the pump on the propane heater. It fired up on the first try and he smirked smugly at the gleaming metal, sitting back on his heels and considering his next best move, in this situation.

“I’m _very cold_ ,” Stiles announced at the top of his lungs. “ _And wet!”_

Why Peter’s wolf decided to mate with a _child_ who was actually _half cat_ was beyond him. As if his life wasn’t tragic enough already.

There was a crashing sound and Peter braced himself, his shoulders tensing. “So help me God, if you’ve just knocked something off a shelf just to be a little shit-” he began in a low growl. _Three-quarters cat._ His lover was _three-quarters cat_ and that was just the fucking cherry on the top of Peter’s life sundae right now, because his wolf wouldn’t let him wring the little shit’s neck and instead demanded he _care_ whenever the little shit started hissing and spitting.

“I didn’t mean to!” shouted Stiles angrily. “It’s fine! I’m picking it up now!”

There was the sound of cupboards being opened and slammed shut, bags rustling, and then he heard it-

Stiles, taking a deep breath that trembled, and blowing it out, his heart beginning to race in the rhythm that meant he had just realized he was acting like a little fool, in front of Peter.

Right on cue, the whisper he was expecting was breathed into the cold air of the cabin. 

_“Shit.”_

A heartbeat later, and the recriminations.

“Fuck, I’m such an _idiot._ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Peter,” called Stiles, his wet socks making slapping noises against the hardwood floor as he stomped to where Peter was crouched beside the utility closet. “I don’t know why I’m like this- maybe my blood sugars are off or something- I know none of today was your fault and I didn’t mean to take it out on you, I do love this vacation, I _am_ loving it.”

Peter looked up at him with an eyebrow cocked, waiting for him to run down. But his wolf’s mate was _Stiles_ and not a wind-up toy, and honestly, Peter loved him as much because he _couldn’t_ predict what the man was going to say as for the way that Stiles made his inner wolf positively _gloat_. So he while he was hoping for Stiles’s heart to slow down and settle, for the man to relax and realize everything they needed was right here in the cramped hallway, he wasn’t entirely surprised when the younger man’s eyes suddenly narrowed and he spat, “Wait a minute, why the _fuck_ am I apologizing to _you?_ I didn't strand us out in the middle of Mother Nature’s Wrathful Episode during a snowstorm! I didn’t suggest a happy morning hike and then freak out when there was a tiny earthquake- _this is California, Peter, earthquakes under 7 shouldn’t faze you_ \- and then start _howling_ and make the avalanche _worse!_ I didn’t do _any_ of that, and so _I’m_ not why I’m cold and miserable and _wet_ , Peter! _I_ wanted _morning sex_!”

Peter blinked as he considered his options. He did _really enjoy_ snapping and snarling with Stiles- nothing got his blood running like the little dominance fights they had, and Stiles was at his best when he was _righteously furious_. But the cabin was cold and his wolf was upset that his mate was cold, and there was a fast way to warm Stiles up while the cabin warmed up around them.

Furthermore, while the hike had seemed like a good idea, really it had been an excuse to get Stiles out to the hot springs all invigorated from the walk and have amazing surrounded-by-nature sex before slipping into the luxurious warmth of the water, and _therefore,_ Peter was _owed some sex_ by the universe for crapping on that plan with a fucking _earthquake_. And an avalanche. A small avalanche, but still. A small avalanche after an earthquake during an unexpected freak snowstorm reeked of both _overkill_ and _Hale luck._

Plus, his wolf was whining that their mate had been in _danger_ and they both needed to be _comforted_.

Which reaction did actually tip the scales and help him make his decision, ultimately. The wolf was utterly unreasonable about Stiles.

Peter stood abruptly, collecting Stiles’s wrists on his way up, transferring them both to a single hand while the man gaped up at him, color rising to his cheeks. He grinned savagely, because Stiles loved the manhandling Peter’s wolf lavished on him, and Peter was well aware of what it did to the kinky little shit. 

_His_ kinky little shit.

“Well,” he drawled, pushing Stiles back, making Stiles stumble, the man’s pulse changing after a few skipped beats from _mad-as-hell_ to _turned-on-please-proceed-Sir_. “A good little pup like you should _definitely_ get everything they deserve, shouldn’t they?”

“Yes?” asked Stiles breathlessly, his eyes dropping to Peter’s mouth hopefully, following blindly where Peter shoved him, a little breath huffing out of his body as Peter pressed him back against the wall. “Yes, I should?”

Peter grinned viciously at his wolf’s mate. “That sounds like a question. Are you not sure you deserve it, then, _Mischief?”_

“No! No, I- I deserve-” and there it was, the little hesitation, as Stiles warred within himself over whether he wanted to spout off some more and have _naughty-little-nasty-pup_ sex or melt and have _good-little-precious-pup_ sex. Great Moon, Peter loved that he didn’t know which way Stiles would go, which way the next hour would play out, until Stiles looked up at him, breath hitching, and spat, “I deserve to be _warm_ and _dry_ and _well-fucked_ , Peter. ‘Let’s take a hike, go see the sights’- _what sights, Peter?_ Trees?! More rocks?! Oh, wait, a fucking _avalanche_ that almost killed us- would have killed us, that’s a _great sight_ , thanks! Thanks so much!”

Stiles’s strident, sarcastic voice would have echoed through the cold cabin, but the logs absorbed noise far better than the cool spartan lines of their brand new condo in the city. Peter missed it just a little- the way Stiles in a full hissing and spitting fit could make their neighbors turn up their televisions. Stiles was _glorious_ when he was in a mood to be bad.

 _Oh, well._ Peter’d long since learned he’d never get everything. Now that he had his direction, it was time to unruffle his little kitty’s fur, smooth it down, and warm his wolf’s mate up.

“Thank you, _Sir_ ,” he reminded Stiles pleasantly, enjoying the way the man’s jaw dropped just a little, just a small unclenching, his eyes softening from their narrow glare as he realized the cards Peter was laying out on the table, one by one. “Isn’t that what we agreed on, Mischief? Don’t I remember signing paperwork to that effect? Something about _love_ and _honor_ and what was that third one? What was it, Mischief?”

Stiles’s eyes flashed, backing down not a single inch, and Peter _loved_ that about his wolf’s mate. The man was stubborn and hardheaded and brilliant and- “Obey,” Stiles spat, chin rising stubbornly, jaw clenching, _gloriously rebellious_.

He didn’t pull his hands from Peter’s grip, didn’t push away from the wall, though. Peter’s wolf wagged its tail happily. _Playtime_.

“And was putting up with loud, obnoxious complaints on my half? I don’t recall…” hummed Peter, watching the words reverberate through the other man’s slight frame with the avid interest of a _huge fan_. 

“No, Sir,” grated Stiles through those deliciously clenched teeth, just a little bared, enough for it to be a push back but not enough for it to trigger a full take-down.

So be it. 

God, Peter loved his kinky, stubborn, fraught-with-tripwires oh-so-human mate, and the dances they danced when no one else was watching.

“No, sir,” he repeated, letting disapproval coat his tone, creating the barbs that he knew Stiles loved to feel stinging, when he was in this mood. “No, indeed, Mischief. _No_. No more, no further, not one more toe out of line, do you hear me?”

Stiles tilted his chin even more, eyes blazing, hands restless within the tight grip of Peter’s control. “Yes. Sir,” he spat.

“Good boy,” praised Peter, mockery in every syllable. They both knew it wasn’t the path Stiles had chosen, wasn’t the words Stiles wanted to hear, wasn’t praise Stiles was _searching for_ right now.

“Bedroom,” growled Peter, tossing Stiles away from the wall, away from him, the man’s socked feet scrambling for balance. He slapped the nearest haunch that presented itself for guidance to coax the man to _move faster_ , and noted the way the man’s breathing shattered.

That, too, he could provide, if that’s what Stiles wanted.

And he certainly seemed to, the kinky little shit. Peter could admit it, if only to himself, he _loved_ his kinked-and-twisted half-man, half-cat. His wolf had made an _excellent_ choice, one guaranteed to never drive Peter insane with boredom and dull simplicity.

He smacked his mate’s haunches a few more times as they raced to the bedroom, for fun and to test his theory, enjoying the way the younger man telegraphed everything, his gasps and flinches hiding not one bit how his blood was thrilling and his scent going murky with desire. Stiles skidded to an awkward, coltish halt beside the log frame bed, hands clenching and unclenching, telegraphing his eagerness as well as his uncertainty.

“Strip,” ordered Peter pleasantly. “Quickly,” he added in a growl.

“My clothes are wet, _Sir_ ,” snarled the man, but he began to pull them off, growling and grunting as the wet clothes pulled back. “And my fingers are _numb_.”

“Whining, complaining,” reminded Peter. “So _tiresome_.” It wasn’t, it was lovely, Peter valued how brutally honest Stiles was about everything- the bad, the good, the mundane and the extraordinary. Nothing was held back, everything addressed, it made his job of _providing for his mate_ so very easy. But Stiles _liked_ when Peter sighed and rolled his eyes, unlike every other partner Peter had ever taken.

Stiles liked a lot of things about Peter that Peter knew other people hated. One more reason Peter was grateful his wolf had nuzzled and _taken_ that long ago night. His mate filled Peter with so much frustration and fondness- Stiles was truly a gift with the kind of complex packaging that would mean he’d never be allowed to get dusty in Peter’s care.

He was also currently struggling very genuinely with the buckle of his belt, his breathing tightening with actual ire as his cold-clumsy fingers fought the wet leather and metal.

That wouldn’t do.

Peter rolled off his last sodden sock and stepped forward, kneeling to take over, batting away Stiles’s fingers. “Off,” he demanded, and the wet leather gave way under his firm direction, the burnished metal allowing it to slide through and off, the blue jean belt loops fighting briefly until they, too, were taught not to contend with Peter Hale.

As the skin warmed jeans were stripped from him, Stiles began to shiver again, the cold air of the cabin stealing the warmth from his pale skin. Well. Peter would quickly take care of that. 

The only time his mate should shiver was when Peter made passionate love to his body until he was overwhelmed and unable to use his words to beg for more, in Peter’s firm opinion.

“Up,” growled Peter, ripping back the covers on the bed. Stiles clambered onto the bed, turning to watch Peter glide up behind him.

“I’m cold,” Stiles stated unnecessarily, his teeth chattering. “I’m _cold_ , and I-”

“Lay down,” directed Peter, listening carefully for Stiles’s heartbeat, catching the hitch. 

Stiles flopped over, curling up into a miserable huddle in the very center of the bed, his head sinking into the space between the sets of pillows. “Kill me,” he moaned. “Just do it. Just kill me, Creepywolf.”

Peter grinned, stretching his length beside his mate and reaching for the covers, drawing them up and around them, the wool and down of the multiple layers both heavy and soft, chilly for only moments before beginning to radiate heat.

Stiles squirmed, and then wiggled, and then somehow without giving a single inch of space in the center of the bed, he’d wrapped himself around Peter to tremble and shake. “You’re hot,” he said quietly, his lips brushing against Peter’s jawline. “And not just like, all the time _you_ hot, you’re _warm_ and that’s- literally I could suck your cock, I’m so grateful. I’m pretty sure I have hypothermia.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” sighed Peter, rolling his eyes and trying to subtly shift his calves out of reach of Stile’s _ice block feet._

“I’m not being dramatic,” protested Stiles, his cold nose rubbing at the sensitive spot just below Peter’s ear as he placed greedy kisses on the side of Peter’s neck. “I really might have hypothermia.”

“You do not,” Peter informed him, giving up and letting Stiles _warm up_ a bit, the smell of the propane heater informing him that the cabin would shortly be comfortable again. A pity the earthquake had triggered the failsafe and shut the pilot light off.

“I might,” breathed Stiles, positively _nuzzling_ in, one of his cold feet rubbing up and down Peter’s shin. “I’m so _cold_ , Peter.”

“You seem to have forgotten how warm I’ll be making you, in a few moments, pup,” drawled Peter, amused.

“What?” yelped Stiles, as if his scent hadn’t gone _supernova_ at that reminder.

“Whining, yelling, slamming cabinet doors?” listed Peter, eyebrow cocking at his mate’s incredulous stare. “Blaming? Shouting?”

“I didn’t- you can’t hold those against me!” protested Stiles. “I was _dying_ of cold and you were _ignoring_ me!”

“Ignoring you?” repeated Peter slowly. Stiles stilled, eyes darting everywhere but Peter’s face. 

“Well, no, Sir, you- you never-”

“I _never_ ignore you,” Peter agreed, tone implacable and cold, unreachable, unapproachable, unassailable.

“No, no, no, Sir, you never do,” Stiles assured him, his heart beating frantically fast.

“How _dare_ you,” hissed Peter, and watched Stiles’s pupils dilate. God, his kinky mate could be played like a tightly-tuned instrument, it really was amazing how _responsive_ he was. The right words, the right facial expression and he was so _malleable_.

“I- I-” stammered Stiles, and Peter could hear all the blood in the young man’s body pool abruptly in his loins, his scent going ripe and round with sudden shocking lust. Peter pulled his lip back down over his teeth, the snarl and growling response of his wolf instinctive, and unwelcome. _Peter_ was in charge here, _Peter_ had complete control, no matter how good Stiles smelled. “I didn’t mean it?” offered Stiles weakly. “What are you-”

- _going to do?_ Peter finished for the man silently, suppressing a smirk as he looked into the passion-blown pupils he cherished.

“We _signed_ a _contract_ ,” he reminded Stiles harshly. “Section 2, Paragraph 4, the Responsibilities of the Submissive, remind me again, Clause 1?”

“Honesty,” breathed Stiles, his face flaming.

“Honesty,” agreed Peter in a voice barely above a purr of sound, nodding his head, enjoying the way Stiles squirmed against him, plastering himself to Peter’s warmth and comfort, his head clearly full of frantic planning.

“Wait, now, Peter, because- because I feel like I should-” attempted Stiles, his eyes narrowing, “-I mean, I didn’t _lie_ , I maybe exaggerated.”

“Clause 3,” Peter pointed out.

“-with a good will, yes, so, but- but- Peter, I was _freezing_! You know I can handle a lot but not _cold_ \- you know I’m awful when I’m cold and wet,” Stiles said urgently, his eyes searching Peter’s face. _Give no ground_ , Peter reminded himself sternly, remembering the hitch in Stiles’s breath as Peter had swatted him earlier.

“Awful, yes,” he agreed in a tone of critique designed to make Stiles flinch. He was not disappointed. “And that’s not what I agreed to, is it? An _awful_ attitude and a series of exaggerated complaints?”

“...no, Sir,” conceded Stiles, his breath drawing shallowly, now, as his eyes glazed just that final bit.

“So you’re going to _get_ what’s coming to you, you _infuriating_ little shit, and then I’ll take what I deserve, do you hear me?” demanded Peter.

Stiles panted, and then caught himself, nodding. “Yes. Yes, Sir. Yes.”

Peter flung the covers off of them, sitting up and scooping Stiles across his lap in one quick motion, his hand already slapping the quivering flesh while mid-motion. Stiles yelped and squirmed, never still, not for a quick and comforting attitude adjustment spanking. They settled into their pattern quickly, Stiles blurting out apologies and promises, Peter sneeringly ignoring all attempts to bribe or bargain a lesser sentence. 

No. In this bed, in Peter’s arms, Stiles _always_ got exactly what he wanted.

“I won’t- I won’t-” protested Stiles wildly, a satisfyingly long time later, his chili-pepper red hot ass wiggling under the assault of Peter’s firm hand. “I pr-omise, Pee-eter!”

Peter slowed his hand, listening to the sound of Stiles’s heart, the breath flowing freely now in his chest, scenting the wild delight and abandon of Stiles’s desire at full peak. It was time. 

“You do?” he asked archly. “You do promise, my little mate? You will be good for me, now, now that we’ve had this little chat about my expectations under our contract?”

“Yes, yes,” hissed Stiles, rubbing his flushed cheek against the flannel bedsheets, arching his back. “Yes, Sir, I will, I’ll be so good. I won’t forget.”

“I suppose,” sighed Peter, his slight slaps turning into caresses, his own heart beginning to race with desire, “I suppose I can be lenient. If you’ll be good. If you’ll _promise_.”

“Anything,” swore his human half recklessly. “Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

And the amazing thing was, _Stiles was telling the truth_.

“Mm,” hummed Peter consideringly, running his hands over the hot flesh of his favorite ass in the entire world, making Stiles squirm for an entirely _different_ reason. “Anything?” he asked, just to hear it again, to hear Stiles promise fervently-

“Anything,” agreed Stiles, drawing a deep breath as Peter’s finger slipped between his cheeks. “Anything,” he whispered, so low that he meant the words for Peter’s ears alone.

“I believe I will take you up on that offer, Stiles,” said Peter pleasantly, pushing his thumb against the rim of muscle to make Stiles moan delightfully.

 _Oooooh. And_ Stiles shuddered. He must have wanted this _very badly_ , then. 

Well, it had been several days, both of them busy at work, trying to clear their schedules so that they could celebrate by going off-grid and out of reach for an entire week.

Time to make it up to the brat.

“Anything,” teased Peter lowly, “what a _big_ promise to make me. You know what I’m like, Stiles, I’m liable to ask for-” and he pressed his thumb into that welcoming warmth, loving the hiss that escaped Stiles’s clenched mouth, “-something that I know you won’t like.”

“Anything,” repeated his mate stubbornly, pressing himself back on that single digit, raising his ass just a little, the flirt.

“And if you don’t like it?” asked Peter lightly, his mind already made up that they’d be doing something they both enjoyed quite a bit, but wanting to rile Stiles up a bit first.

“Anything, Sir,” breathed Stiles, his cheeks flushing. Well. The higher set flushing, anyway. The lower set had achieved that slightly shiny look Peter loved to see.

A job well done, in fact.

Time for the play after the work.

Peter shifted them quickly, using the strength and the flexibility that he knew turned Stiles on past the point of reason, until Stiles was flipped, balanced in the center of the bed again, face shoved between the pillows and ass up in the air, held in place by Peter’s hand pressing on the small of his back, his other hand digging in the side table drawer for- “Ah! You did unpack _exactly as I asked you_ ,” he murmured to Stiles, swatting that red ass again and praising, “Good boy.”

Stiles preened. Just a little- not enough for outside eyes to even note it, but Peter knew every mole and molecule of his mate, and Stiles was preening in the presentation pose. He’d probably gone glassy-eyed with need and satisfaction, both, one itch scratched and the next well on the way to being addressed, just the way the little shit loved it.

Peter spoiled the boy, he really did, but his mate deserved spoiling.

He lubed up his fingers and shoved them- and it was _glorious_ that Stiles could take two at once, now, absolutely wondrous- inside that willing, upturned ass, marked up and plump, just for him. Wiggling, now, shaking and jiggling, just for him. Thrusting and gasping and moaning, just for him.

Always a shock to be reminded how he’d ended up here, in this small slice of forever heaven, despite all that bad Hale luck.

Stiles was keening, begging wordlessly with a hoarse voice for Peter’s cock, his ass nearly gobbling Peter’s whole hand, before Peter shifted his position and rested his cockhead against that stretch-reddened hole. “Be a good boy, now,” he teased Stiles in a voice gone silky with desire, “and beg me.”

“Oh, God, oh, God,” began Stiles, before babbling, “yes, please, Sir, God, fuck me, get inside me, please, I want you to fill me up, can you- will you _knot_ me, fuck, Sir, please? Can you shove it- I want- fill me up, I’m so ready, I’m so so so so so ready, please, Sir, Peter, please I-”

Peter chuckled as it all cut off on the first thrust, Stiles moaning and groaning senselessly as Peter bottomed out in one quick thrust, sliding though the copious amounts of slickening lube he’d massaged into Stiles moments before.

“Too- too-” gasped Stiles.

“Awww, now, too fast, too deep,” crooned Peter, wrapping a hand around Stiles’s neck and drawing the younger man up to an awkward angle. “I know, I know, Stiles, but we’re not doing what _you_ want, are we? Do we ever?”

Stiles sputtered, his pre-cum leaking out and scenting the air with all the things that were ripe and beautiful in Peter’s life right now. Peter growled and released Stiles, the younger man dropping down to the mattress as if suddenly roped down and yanked, limbs splayed carelessly.

Peter growled, and then he listened to the driving rhythm of Stiles’s heart, and he _fucked_ back into the man, hard and fast and far too deep, making Stiles yelp and yell, and _push back_ , his ass tightening and clenching in that deeply shocking way, as if his body was intent on pulling an orgasm out of Peter. Well. Two could play at that game. Peter rearranged his fingers and palms for a better grip of Stiles’s hips and began to set a driving rhythm, snarling and snapping at the air from the _feel_ of it, the power and the glory of _taking_ what was his, of claiming and owning and- and-

“S-s-sir,” gasped Stiles, his voice high and tight.

“Already?” snapped Peter, a smug smirk floating across his face, where Stiles couldn’t see it. So completely responsive and utterly unpredictable, his mate was.

“P-please,” begged Stiles. 

“All about you,” huffed Peter, chasing his own orgasm with his driving hips, pumping himself in and out so fast Stiles likely couldn’t sense every thrust. Couldn’t sense them individually but _clearly_ they built within him just as well as the slower, more usual deep thrusts Peter preferred.

“Uuuuuuuuuh,” groaned Stiles, beautifically. “S-sir,” he hissed.

“Me first,” commanded Peter cruelly. Stiles actually cried out, as if pained. Peter’s grin peeled his lips off his teeth and quickly turned to a snarl as his knot began to fill, rubbing harder and harder until it _caught_. Stiles yelped, and the scent of his mate’s release, the feel of those frantic flutters, crested Peter’s orgasm in a shocking twist of _too much_ and _not enough._

They held there a moment, Peter buried deep with Stiles, Stiles’ back arched impossibly, until Stiles gasped, “Fuck, dude,” and Peter snapped, “Don’t call me that!” slapping a hand on Stiles’s ass.

Really. _Honestly._

Stiles gave a helpless giggle, collapsing bonelessly and then snorting, “Sorry, sorry, Sir. Forgot.”

“It’s _explicitly stated within the contract_ ,” Peter complained.

“I know, I know, I’m _sorry_ ,” apologized Stiles, the smirk Peter could hear in his voice definitely lacking sincerity.

“You should be,” Peter chided him bluntly. “Honestly. After all I’ve done for you this morning, to _almost ruin_ the second best orgasm of this vacation so far-“

“I’ll make it up to you,” said Stiles confidently, sounding very content, stretched around Peter’s knot and shoved between the two lopsided stacks of pillows.

“I don’t see how,” Peter informed his mate, completely baffled. _Really? ‘Dude?!’_

“Hey, while we’re talking about the contract,” began Stiles, which wasn’t the smoothest segue and Peter took note of the fact that Stiles _still owed him something_ for later, “- I want to add another codicil!”

Peter’s eyes narrowed in instant suspicion as he swept his mate up and buried them both under the blankets before the still-chilled air could nip at their sweat-slicked skin. “What?” he demanded.

“I _always_ want you to warm me up like that. Just like that. _Always. Forever,_ Peter, I mean it. That was so fucking hot,” mumbled Stiles into his burrow of pillows.

Peter leaned closer and kissed his mate’s exertion-warmed shoulder, a satisfied smirk twisting his lips. “Cold weather codicil accepted,” he declared. “I’m hiding all your coats and hats and wool socks this afternoon, you’re going to spend your life freezing and being warmed up.”

“Perfect,” chuckled Stiles, wiggling as Peter’s knot spurted more thick cum inside him. “Sounds happy.”

It sure did, Peter conceded, kissing his wolf’s mate’s mole-spangled shoulder fondly.

It sure did.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the link to our Discord server if you want to join us in our tomfoolery: [WriterBuddies](https://discord.gg/4KWWccK)
> 
> You can find me most often in the TW (Trigger Warning) sections- feel free to tag me once you get your Hardcore Topics role!


End file.
